


Breathe the Nightmares Away

by OneWithHiccups



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian tries new things, Family Bonding, Gen, PTSD, Protective Dick Grayson, Rating for bad bad words, These kids are precious, Tim Drake is Trying, Whump, Worried Batfamily (DCU), mentions of anxiety attacks, online bullying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWithHiccups/pseuds/OneWithHiccups
Summary: Damian is suffering from the trauma of being so perfect. And fighting nightmarish ghouls of pure evil on the nightly, but no one ever asks.Not until the symptoms start showing and he has no good avenue to get the nightmares out.But his brothers have his back.(YEs, this was inspired by that tumblr post where Damian gets into Legos; and by gets into I mean geTS INTO)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	1. A Bad Time Getting Worse

Jason be damned if he was ever caught by Bruce sneaking around the manor. It had been a few months since he’d begun the habit, entering by a window or secret opening that only Robins knew of only to roam the house in search of snacks to sneak and a rare book to read. With Pit Madness sincerely out of his head, it was much easier to walk the familiar halls without losing his sense of self. In fact, most of the sentimental scents were actually _comforting_.

Still, it wasn’t normal for him to come over twice in a week. Then again, what he’d seen in the little Demon’s room two nights ago was far from normal, too. 

He wouldn’t apologize for poking around what wasn’t his, but even he had to admit guilt when the Bats and Birds were on their patrol and he’d come around to a stack of papers “hidden” under the brat’s bed. It was a miracle the high-strung boy even considered them hidden with how easily Jason found them. But one flip through them and it was _clear_ that he should keep his nose out, and probably attempt to put each scrap back exactly how he found it lest the Demon track him down.

Pages upon pages of pencil sketches, each one graphic and disturbed in its own special way. Most of them were dated from nearly last year, back when Bruce was “away”, but there were still a few near the top that had been drawn up just last weekend. 

They featured an image of Scarecrow--there’d been some strange show-down recently, he remembered--yet not really. Crane was pencilled as lanky in an inhuman manner, thin and brittle looking limbs curled over what appeared to be the remains of a dog. Flesh and presumably blood were caked on the disturbed creature’s gaping maw, eyes mere specks in cavernous sockets just above harsh cheekbones. Its fingers were long and sharp, shredding fur and muscle as if they were tissue paper. The dog was even missing the bottom half of its jaw. 

Jason had to give it to the kid--his artistry was off the charts. If the illustration weren’t a cruel peek into the poor kid’s psyche, Jason might actually feel glad that he had the talent to express himself. But no, it wouldn’t be enough. With ideas like that bouncing around in his head, it was no wonder the kid lost his temper so often, still searching for blood after months in his father’s care. 

As embarrassing as it was to admit, Jason could relate. Which is why he was back, really. Back by the brat’s doorway and opening it gently despite knowing the kid was actually in there this time. 

Peering in and letting his eyes adjust, the boy’s room was as spotless and empty as ever. His bed resting in the center was fitted with pure white sheets, and nothing was on his bedside table. Hell, there was nothing on the _walls_. Damian himself was sitting cross-legged on his bed, back to the headboard and eyes closed. 

Something was wrong with the kid: he didn’t notice Jason enter and even _flinched_ when he finally shuffled his feet against the carpet more overtly. Well, it was wrong that the kid was expected to be so… _Batman-esque_. 

Even the glare the little brat shot over to the door was very Bruce. Jason merely smirked. “Ey, what’s with the face? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Something you’re about to rectify, I’m sure.” 

Damn, the kid had a huge bag of chips on his shoulder. Plus, his voice was smoother than usual.

  
“Don’t think I won’t notice,” Jason hummed, taking a few more steps toward the boy. Damian’s spine went ramrod straight, as if he were holding himself in place. “So what’s the matter?”

Another flinch, small and tremoring deep into the boy’s chest as he took a sharp quiet breath and quickly held it to silence himself. The boy was doing mental gymnastics just to keep up the act; for Bruce, sure, but for _Jason_? Why?

Jason sighed. “What are you even doing, anyway?”

“Meditation,” Demon answered sharply, eyes snapping closed in an effort to collect himself. “Every sword must take its time to resharpen.”

“Right. Like yoga.” Jason smirked as the boy’s frame stiffened again, apparently a visceral response just beyond his control.

“Wrong.”

Jason sighed again and approached the bed. 

“No,” Damian snapped, opening his eyes again to glare at Jason. 

  
Jason rose his hands in surrender and glared. “What? I’m tryin’ to see what’s the matter with you!”

“ _Nothing_ is the matter with me. And you will not touch my bed.” 

Jason stepped back, lowering his arms. No doubt the kid had many a blade hidden under that pillow. “Fine. Christ.” He sighed heavily, watching the boy attempt to settle back down into his focus. 

Jason turned to the room instead, trying to find any semblance of personality on display. Just a short and tidy pile of hunking books stacked by the nightstand. He scoffed. “You really are Bruce’s kid. You seriously need to learn to loosen up.” 

“Trying,” Damian droned. “If only you would leave.”

“No, no, not that spiritual bull-.” He cut himself off early on that last word, but only paused a moment so the kid wouldn’t notice. “I’m talking about letting out _steam_.”

Damian opened his eyes again, this time in curiosity veiled with the usual contempt. “Such as?”

Jason grinned. “All the great kid stuff! COD and WOW, or a long marathon of slasher movies to get the jitters out.” He leaned back on his heels and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Though maybe movies aren’t active enough. Ya need _action_.”

Damian almost gave an expression of bewilderment, if such a thing could manifest fully on the Demon’s face. 

Jason merely smirked, already brimming with mirth. “I’ll set ya up, kid.” 

  
  
  


\- - - - - - - -

  
  


That brat was in serious shit now. Okay, maybe harsh, but the kid deserved it. 

Tim liked to think he was patient with even the most trying of personalities. He could talk down lunatics and keep cool through the most unnerving situations and _yet_. 

With that little snide voice and sneer still bouncing around in his head, Tim practically threw himself at his computer chair to get his mind off it. Damian had such a condescending tone and arrogance that would _not_ be swayed. And somehow he had such pure souls as Dick and _Alfred_ looking after him, defending him. Despite all his insensibility and conceit and _impudence_...

It was as if Damian was engineered specifically to make him lose that cool he was so good at. Maybe this was some long-term scheme of Ra’s to drive him nuts. He wouldn’t be surprised at this point. 

Then again, at the moment he felt totally in control of himself. Even fresh off a scathing fight with the brat he’d gone straight to his computer like some sort of ritual. Now whenever Damian irked him, he took to finding some dirty little secret of the boy’s and leaking it; sometimes to the internet, often just to the Bat-crew. Last month he’d leaked damning evidence that the kid _spoke with his cat_. And not just one sided--the kid spoke for Alfred Pennyworth The Cat to keep the dialogue running for as long as _nine consecutive minutes_. Shit, was it beautiful to get each and every response from the group chat. 

While he currently already had another juicy bit--some footage of the kid violining with earbuds in and _clearly_ having a jam session duet with Lindsey Sterling--Tim made it a rule to have at least one extra dirty secret stored for safe-keeping. 

And so, cool as a cucumber and as focused as ever, his fingers danced across the keyboard, eyes sweeping across screens and effortlessly finding his targets. The Demon’s “secure” network only took an hour to break into this time--everything gets easier with practice, after all. Like a heist, he’d only be in and out once he got his prize.

And this one had to be _good_. Because, damn, the kid had ragged on his _parents_ this time around. Sub-par revenge wouldn’t do his boiling blood justice. 

It occurred to him that perhaps Lindsey Sterling was the best he’d get in the near future when he noticed a new account linked to the boy’s network for… _Oh, hell yeah._

Of course the kid decked out his online character in the darkest clothes, was well on his way toward giving it the highest stealth stats to make him a ninja or whatever the hell edgelord tweens thought were cool, and named the guy _Vizeroth_. Tim had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. 

But then he scrolled. Familiar turns of phrase caught his eye and _I thought there was something weird about it_. 

Because where on earth would the Demon have learned insults like the ones he spat out at Tim just ten minutes ago? Sure, the boy’s usual company wasn’t exactly angelic, but there was a certain nastiness to his words that Tim was practically kicking himself for not recognizing. People could be absolutely filthy on the internet.

Amongst the chat records were plenty more horrible things than name-calling, each insult biting and personal and hurled straight at Damian. It looked like the Demon was too good at what he did, and it wasn’t making him any friends. 

Tim leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing the base of his neck. Well damnit, this backfired. He was supposed to revel in some embarrassing secrets, not feel sorry for the brat.

Besides, what was he supposed to do? As if the kid would accept help from him. 

Outsourcing was the only real option here, but the idea of bringing this stuff to light had Tim bending his neck from side to side. No way would Damian hear what concerns he might have, much less give into a heart-to-heart. Their relationship was confined to resentment, insults, and one-upping the other for a good laugh. 

No, this required much more… _practiced_ help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm in love with all four of the male Batkids. They each interact so differently with each other in a way that I can't leave any one of them out.  
> Also, I'm learning to appreciate Tim and Damian's two way nonsense (mostly because when it truly comes down to it, Tim's just baffled and secretly wants Damian to succeed, and Damian's lost in his insecurity and pride that he feels like he can't start being nice NOW, like, how would that look??)
> 
> Next one up is the big D going to lil D's rescue


	2. Bad Times Getting Better

Damian had snapped during patrol again, and went straight to his room for his trouble. 

Damnit, this wasn’t _fair_. Father was always telling him to do what was right and act decisively, but what about when his killer instincts made the decisions for him? No one really understood how it felt to be a slave to your own skill. 

And obviously he couldn’t say such a ridiculous and conceited thing aloud.

Damian hadn’t bothered to turn on his lights, instead heading straight to his desk and tapping the spacebar to wake up his laptop. As it flickered to life, Damian hesitated. Lately he’d tried out Todd’s advice and played around with WOW during his off hours. He understood the appeal, the addiction of grinding on tasks which slowly banked in levels of experience and skill points, the satisfaction of gradually improving and advancing toward more difficult enemies, and of course, the freedom to customize his character’s route. There was just something so pleasing in creating his own destiny, deciding his own rules and goals. It was so different from his own life.

That stupid pressure in the back of his brain was coming back. Damian shut his eyes tightly and closed the lid of his laptop a bit more forcefully than he meant, rushing to fling himself on his bed like a teenage girl would. But no one was around to see this, and he was preoccupied with pressing his fingertips into the base of his skull, rubbing small, slow circles into the slight give of his flesh to make the pounding panic recede. His own head was fighting with him, making him jumpy and irritated and _exhausted_ once he got around to settling himself down, however long that took. 

Who knows how long he was there, face-down in the plush of his bedspread and keeping his anxiety at bay, before a light knock rattled his door. 

He contemplated pretending to be a vacant room, but Grayson’s voice called gently against the wood and compelled him to be truthful. Regardless of how dumb it was, Damian suspected that if Richard had a secret superpower, it was the ability to force others to give in to his stupid puppy dog pouting. 

“Yes,” Damian replied, muffled and unenthused. He untangled his fingers from his hair and rolled to one side, back facing the opening door as if he were taking a nap. “I do not require comfort.”

“Oh?” Grayson said calmly, always the diplomat. “Why’d you let me in, then?”

Damian shifted into a more comfortable position, pulling his arm out from being pinned beneath his torso. “Because we have agreed that you cannot come in without my consent. I have no reason to banish you at this moment.”

Grayson chuckled calmly, the soft padding of his feet telling Damian that he was in his socks, the gentle rustle against Damian’s bedspread as he sat on the edge of the bed telling that he was in his civvies. “I see. You’d tell me if you didn’t want me around?”

“Don’t I always?” Damian replied easily. Those kinds of responses always rolled off his tongue. It was easy to hurt people, hard to play nice. Damian was realizing that he resented that weakness within himself. 

“I’m not sure,” Grayson said, leaning back to lay on the sheets with his legs still hanging over the edge. “You’re not afraid to speak your mind, but there are still so many things you keep to yourself. It can be pretty tricky figuring out where the line is between those two.”

It was almost impossible to hold back the deep sigh that controlled his chest, but Damian managed to turn it into a loud huff at the last moment. “Maybe it’s tricky by design. We all put passcodes on our safes, and locks on our houses.”

Damian could hear the smile in Grayson’s voice. “You’ve got a key to my house, kiddo.”

Now it was Damian’s turn to laugh. “That was _not_ the right way to say that,” he sneered, turning his head to shoot a mean smirk. 

Grayson reached over with a playful swat against Damian’s legs, “No _no_ , _gross_ , that is _not_ what I meant and you know it!”

They shared a laugh and a chuckle respectively, and Damian laid back down to find the pressure in his head fading. No wonder he let Grayson in his room. 

“Hey,” Grayson called, shifting on his back in the darkness--he hadn’t bothered to disturb Damian with turning on the lights. His voice had an edge of mischief. “We should get out of here.”

Damian rolled to his back and sat up slightly. “How do you mean?”

“Y’know, go out! I know that most places aren’t open for another few hours, but we could grab some tea or hot cocoa or something and do a little Saturday morning mall trot!”

Damian pursed his lips to one side skeptically, despite Grayson being unable to see him. “Mall trot,” he replied flatly, hiding his curiosity with practiced disdain.

Grayson brushed him off as he always could. “Yeah! I’ve got a few places in mind where we’ve _gotta_ go. I, um, I know it’s been a while since you and I… y’know, since we’ve had any bonding time.”

Damian was fully sitting up now, arms crossing in defense. This was too much. “Alright, what is it you’re plotting, Grayson?”

The silhouette of Richard popped up on one elbow and placed his other hand against his chest in some sort of faux offense. “What’s wrong with wanting to hang out with my favorite little brother?”

Damian scoffed. 

“Hey! It’s not a lie, Little D.” Grayson leaned forward a bit and offered a fist to bump. “You know that, right?”

The air in the room grew thicker and Damian felt his body fill up with fluttery moths. Of all the lists of favorites in the world, Damian knew he wasn’t on a single one but Grayson’s. Not even Father’s. And on the slight chance that he was, Father would never breathe a word of it, as if it were taboo to let his son know he loved him. 

Grayson was always different in that way. 

Damian knew he was red with pride, but hid under the blanket of the dark and felt no shame for it. He straightened his spine and tapped his knuckles against his big brother’s, his smile just as hidden as his blush. 

The moment was sweet as a sugar cube, almost too much to handle, so Damian swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood slowly. He practiced deep breathing as Grayson rose as well and headed to the door, intent on leading him on an adventure. 

“Wanna go now?” Grayson offered, hands propped on his hips. 

Damian hummed, keeping his eyes away from his computer and holding his wrist as to subtly check his pulse. “I suppose I haven’t anything better to do.”

He slid behind his elder’s steps like a slipstream, suddenly aware of how eager he was to get out of this house, away from his family with whom the bickering was nigh constant. 

“Richard?” Damian whispered as they neared the garage. 

Grayson’s cheeks were plump with a smile and he nodded his head with a questioning hum.

Damian bit the inside of his cheek lightly. “Are you versed in… apologizing to Father?”

Grayson didn’t falter, but he raised his chin slightly and his eyes squinted. He truly was terrible at schooling his expression into neutrality. “I suppose I’ve done it more than any other Robin. But not as often as maybe I should have.” He rounded the driver’s side of his car and slid an earnest smile across the hood. 

Damian chewed on that notion for a moment as they both settled in their seats, slamming the car doors and plugging in their seatbelts. Still looking down, he felt the warmth of a firm hand on his shoulder and rose his eyes to see Grayson’s understanding smile.

“I know he’s larger than life sometimes, but believe me when I say that your father is just a man. If you’re sorry and express that openly and honestly, he’ll understand you. No magic incantations needed.” Grayson’s smile then turned full blast, his hand squeezing reassurance into the meat of his shoulder. 

Deep in his gut, Damian felt something that had been tense dissolve. His own expectations had been stringing him so tight he was ready to snap at anything, but Grayson managed to get close enough to loosen the pegs. He wasn’t afraid of Damian’s bite. Never had been.

Damian nodded and Grayson gave him his space back and got the engine started. As they drove off and away from the estate, Damian rolled down his window fully and leaned toward the morning air with one elbow jutting into the sunshine. Soon enough, his whole upper body was twisted toward the window and his arms were crossed to rest his head upon, ruffling his hair and forcing him to breathe the fresh air. It was like his lungs were being cleaned out by Mother Earth herself.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dick was careful to keep quiet as Damian relaxed in the car. When he first saw him out of the dark of his room, the boy looked about ready to cave in. Damian may try his best to cover his weaknesses and insecurities, but Dick had spent his life learning how to read people--particularly when they were hurting. Bruce wasn’t still alive for sheer dumb luck.

He wondered when the boy realized they weren’t heading for the city, or even if the kid was dozing out of consciousness or not, but it was a good twenty minutes into their ride before Damian spoke up over the wind. 

“I thought you said we were going out for tea.”

Dick nodded, “We are. But going the long way never hurt anyone.”

Damian sat back in his seat and ran one hand through his freshly tanged locks, his other elbow still jutting out the window. “Father would disagree with you. For him, the quickest route is the only one.”

When Damian spoke in little parables like this, there was something heavy snagged in his mind. It took some finagling to get it loose, but Dick was learning how to be discrete. “I dunno. Isn’t the _right_ route the only one for him?” 

Damian’s shoulders stiffened. 

Dick sighed, conflicted between supporting Bruce as the authoritative parent and taking Damian’s side as a fellow son of the Bat. “I know what you mean, though,” he finally admitted. “He’s so focused on what’s “right” or whatever… that sometimes he can’t see what’s best.” 

“ _Sometimes._ ” Damian snipped, his own frustrations clearly building up in his blood.

Dick nodded slowly, pacing his words to not seem argumentative. “How old are you?”

Damian shot him a side glance, taken slightly off guard by the left-field question. “Thirteen next month. Why?”

“I was about your age when Bruce and I had our first huge fight.”

The boy fell silent, and Dick softened his voice even further so Damian had to lean over to listen. “It was right after a mission; you know, the long stake-out type where you’re hungry and freezing and tired. We were busting some big gun run and of course they knew how to use ‘em. Also know, by this time I was only Robin for maybe five months.”

Dick took a slow turn on the road, and Damian held his hand out the window to grab at the wind while he listened. 

“Anyway, things went south pretty quick and it felt like the only thing I could do was grab the gunman from above. Batman disagreed.” Dick pursed his lips. “Of course, he couldn’t say so in front of the perps, but as soon as we got home, _man_ did he rip me open. Said it was reckless and stupid and that I shouldn’t be out there with him at all.” 

Damian turned toward him, and Dick realized his grip on the steering wheel was making his palms sweaty. He took a deep breath. _Maybe I still haven’t really gotten over it_. 

“It was awful. I felt so stupid, and small, and worse than useless. It hadn’t been long that I lived at the manor, but at that point he really was like a father to me.” Dick felt his voice die out in his throat. He remembered it had been the first time he wondered if Bruce really saw him as a true son.

“So,” Damian started lowly, like Dick was the one who was upset here, “What happened? Did you apologize?”

Dick gave a defeated chuckle. “Eventually. Actually, it was Alfred who first came to me; he talked me out of my funk.”

Damian’s nose scrunched reflexively. “Oh, so you’re trying to be Alfred to me, is that it?”

“It’s not like that. I mean, I guess that’s how it’s turning out. I’m just sharing.”

The car fell silent, a hair’s thread of tension tight between the two. Then Damian pressed his back firmly against his seat. 

“I’m sorry,” Damian whispered.

Dick glanced to the side to see his chin and eyes lowered. 

“I didn’t mean what I said.” The boy’s voice was a mumble, but an edge of regret slipped out. 

Dick couldn’t hold back his sharp laughter, delighted to see Damian ruffle up and puff his cheeks as he glared. “You’re the best,” Dick chirped, reaching over to scratch at the kid’s hair. 

“Why are you laughing? Stop it!”

Dick kept laughing as Damian swatted him away. “Because I seriously love you, kid. You just make me happy.” 

“Ugh, gross,” Damian huffed while turning back to the window. “Just drive to Plucky Tea already.”

Dick beamed, knowing that even if he took his time, Damian wouldn’t complain. He turned the radio dial up slowly and let it soothe the both of them into comfort.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It really wasn’t like him to admit he was having a good time, so Damian kept having to force his lips and brows down. Why was it so important to pout? It was like if he let go of his hurt feelings, his pride would take a ding. That’s not how he wanted to live. How did Richard do it? 

Well, truthfully, Grayson seemed to live off of fairy dust and marshmallow cereal alone, like his bubbly personality and breakfast were all he needed to propel him through weeks of hard times. Even now, the man--the _full grown man_ \--was wrestling with the rusted turndial of a 25 cent candy machine, one in a long row lining an edge of the Gothic Mall. 

Damian kept his arms crossed and his head turned slightly away as he watched tiny colorful fruit tumble into Grayson’s palm. 

“Ohmygod, strawberry is the best,” he sing-songed, shuffling the candies and counting each kind. 

“And the worst?” Damian prodded playfully, urging them to continue their long walk through the mall. If asked he’d say it was a useless, tiresome journey, but inwardly he appreciated the people watching and window gazing. It was soothing.

“Such a pessimist, lil’ bro.” Grayson cupped his hands together to shake them up before popping one into his mouth at random. “But seriously, it’s watermelon. I don’t know what it is, but they’re like… almost spicy? I don’t know, I don’t dig it.” 

Damian snickered quietly, falling into step with his big brother. 

Their journey across the mall was long, but methodological. They’d looked at the map beforehand and Grayson let Damian choose the path which would have the least retracing past stores they’d already seen. He’d taken liberties to ensure the food court was near the end of their journey so they could have lunch at an appropriate time. Grayson had looked on in easy compliance, sneaking a tactless grin which Damian had to disperse with a sharp elbow to the ribs. 

Time was flying by and they were already at the halfway point when Grayson gasped and bounced up on his heels.   
  


“Look! There it is!” He hurried past the cell phone store they were in front of and crossed into a huge, elaborate doorway.

“Seriously? Legos?” Damian asked, raising a brow to show his disdain. The walls were painted a blinding yellow, not unlike the underbelly of his own Robin cape. 

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em till you try ‘em, kiddo. This is the legacy of so many childhoods, so many creative seeds, so many _epic adventures_.”

“Sounds like you were really imprinted as a toddler. Still sleep with a binkie, too?” Damian smirked meanly, but couldn’t help but look all around him at the creations peppering the store from top to bottom. 

The two moved slowly around the store, Damian shedding his veneer of contempt in favor of analyzing the architectural feats displayed in miniature scale. Grayson was gracious to let it slide, and they each pointed out new features within the shop until they were interrupted by the buzzing of a phone. 

Grayson held a hand up as he dug out his phone and glanced at the screen. “One second; BRB.” 

Damian heard a low register just as Grayson walked toward the entrance of the store, and hushed, cool responses such as, “Yes. ...Of course I know where--we’re here together. ...No. ...Because, it’s a Saturday and that Manor shrinks on sunny mornings. It’s not even lunchtime and we’ve…” 

Grayson’s voice faded for good as he turned the corner of the entrance to stand out in front of the huge glass windows, one hand on his hip as he spoke. Father hadn’t been told Damian was leaving, and now Richard was going to get in trouble for it. Their fight had been so sharp and explosive, Father hadn’t even the chance to ground him--Damian should have guessed it and foreseen this. 

He held a hand to the back of his head, rubbing away the growing pressure and returning to the store’s built models. Some of them came from pre-made boxes, but others were entirely original; like the massive Arc De Triomphe sitting in the store’s heart and outlined with thin goldenrod _Do Not Touch_ tape. A little paper plaque boasted a name, date, and the number 4,442 for the number of pieces used. 

“We have a boxed version in the back, as well.” A feminine voice brought him out of his focus, and he looked to his right to the associate who was admiring the build with him. “This one’s freestyle, and took over seven months to plan and construct.” 

Damian nodded. “Do you carry all of these pieces in the store?” He glanced to the dozens of bins all across the back wall, each carrying a specific piece to be bought by the bag, like candy.

“Many of them are basic, so yeah. The ones we don’t have we can order for you. And the boxed version is very nice too, though it's way smaller. Maybe, like, 400 pieces. Anything you need, just let me know, okay?” She said with a bright, Grayson-like smile. Except Grayson didn’t even get paid for it; he smiled and laughed and was kind just for the hell of it.

Damian hummed a thank-you and returned to the countless boxes of pre-planned construction projects. He was stuck on their limited selection of “expert” box sets, staring at a nearly four thousand piece set of the Taj Mahal when he heard Grayson’s whistle over his shoudler.

“Big boys! I bet these ones’d take ages to make.” Grayson hadn’t a shred of frustration or tension in his voice. Things rolled off him like oil.

“Do we have to return home?” Damian meant for his own voice to retain a similar composure and coolness, but his own ears caught disappointment, and maybe guilt.

Damain felt a warm hand on the back of his neck. “Nope. It’s just you and me today. Like old times, right?”

Though his reflex to the neck grab was to shrink away, everything was different with Grayson. He was always safe, always warm and open and accepting, even when Damian bit him for it. He felt himself nodding and the tightness in his head and shoulders fall away like autumn leaves. Even in this blinding, deafening store, he felt safer and more at home than, well, home. 

“Thank you,” Damian whispered, not loud enough to be heard over the children filling the shop with laughter and chatter. 

“Hey,” Grayson cooed, giving one last pat before crossing his arms. Damian looked back to his big brother, unsure if he’d heard his thanks or not. “You wanna go on ahead to the food market and pick something? I can catch up with you in a minute.”

Suspicious, but Damian relished in the chances Grayson gave him to be independent. Going off to peruse the mall’s choices of cuisine, Damian wondered how Grayson had talked his father down, and if he should be worried about returning home. He realized that his anxieties about seeing Father again were dulled now that Grayson had spoken to him, and he wondered if maybe he should thank him for that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dick is my favorite; sue me. And these two bros bonding is my favorite; sue me again, but I'm broke from the last round, remember?  
> I'd make Dick have flaws but I don't want toooo


End file.
